


The Two Times

by jeahwriting



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeahwriting/pseuds/jeahwriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Twice Michael caught Ryan with Dave Boudia.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Two Times

**Author's Note:**

> also one of the first phlochte fics i ever wrote. (:

  


Twice Michael caught Ryan with Dave Boudia. 

  


The first time, Michael was on a high. He raced through the hallways, laughing and bouncing off the walls. Adrenaline pumped rapidly through his veins. His newest Olympic gold bounced off his chest as he threw open door after door. He was looking for Lochte. Because, honestly, who else would he want to celebrate with?

  


His heart stopped cold when he opened the door to the locker rooms. Lochte was there, panting and moaning, with Dave Boudia pinned against the wall. His fingers were in Dave’s boxers and he kissed Dave’s neck, murmuring a string of soft curses. Michael quickly backtracked, reaching frantically for the doorknob. He threw himself into the hallway before crumpling to the floor.

  


What the fuck was Ryan doing with that diver? What gave Dave the fucking right to lay hands on Ryan? His Ryan? Michael felt a boiling, red-hot anger build in his chest. His head swam with images of Dave touching Ryan, Dave kissing Ryan, Dave grinding into Ryan. He saw Ryan pulling Dave close, Ryan moaning into Dave’s mouth. Michael turned and dry-heaved into a trashcan.

  


He knew that he and Ryan weren’t exclusive. They never really talked about their relationship. They never took the time to define what they were—never took the time to set up rules or boundaries. And he supposed that Ryan fucking Dave wasn’t technically considered cheating. After all, there really hadn’t been a relationship there to cheat on. But it still burned like no other. Michael felt like he’d just jumped into an ice bath. Any excitement, any joy, that he had felt moments before vanished. He ripped his gold medal off his neck and hurled it at the wall.

  


To be honest, Michael had never even considered the fact that Ryan might be sleeping with other people. Because he certainly hadn’t. He had just assumed—after years of being together—that they were monogamous. 

  


But maybe Ryan saw things differently. Maybe Ryan saw Michael as nothing more than a friend with benefits. Nothing more than a good fuck. The thought sank like a stone in Michael’s stomach.

  


 * * *

  


Ryan Lochte missed Michael. He just really fucking missed Michael.

  


Ever since the 100 meter butterfly, Michael Phelps avoided Lochte like the plague. When Ryan went up to congratulate him, Mike just stared at him and turned away. When he tried to start a conversation, Mike looked past him and said nothing. When he touched him lightly on the arm, Mike jerked back like he had been burned.

  


Ryan kicked a trashcan on the way to his hotel room. It had been three weeks since he and Michael had had a proper conversation. Three weeks since they last kissed, since they last touched, since they last slept together. Ryan’s stomach churned as he thought of the last time he was with Michael. 

  


It was after Ryan’s last race in those Olympics. Michael had been by his side the whole time, swimming faster and faster until Ryan knew that he couldn’t beat him even if he tried. When they touched the wall after the final lap, Mike had taken gold and he had taken silver. Mike whooped and splashed at the water and Ryan laughed, unable to be upset when Mike looked so happy. Michael had swum over to Lochte and put his hand on the back of Ryan’s head, pulling him close. They stayed there grinning at each other and Ryan noticed a look in Michael’s eyes. A look that he had noticed only a few times before. A look that he didn’t understand.

  


After they had gotten out of the water, Michael pulled Ryan toward their hotel room. “Woah there,” Ryan remembered saying, laughing. “There are people downstairs that want to see you.” Michael had just turned around, that same look in his eyes. “I don’t want to celebrate with them. I want to celebrate with you.” Once they were in the room, Mike pushed Ryan against the door and attacked his mouth, smiling through the kiss. He put his fingers on Ryan’s chest and lifted his shirt. Ryan moaned and pulled Michael even closer. 

  


Ryan’s stomach twisted as he thought of that night. That was when Ryan was happy. Nothing—not even gold medals or million dollar sponsorships—could compare to the way Mike made him feel. Ryan racked his brains as stepped into the elevator. Why the fuck was Michael so mad at him? 

  


In his room, Ryan looked out the window and saw Mike by the hotel pool. He was talking to Erik Vendt, laughing loudly and leaning in close. Ryan watched as Michael put his hand on Erik’s arm, whispering something in his ear. Ryan quickly closed the curtain and flopped onto his bed, fighting the urge to march downstairs and punch Erik Vendt in the face.

  


* * * 

  


The second time, Michael was miserable. He hated seeing Ryan everyday. He hated going to the locker rooms. He hated watching Lochte talk to Dave and Matt and Peter. He hated having to smile when he felt nothing but emptiness inside. 

  


More than anything, Michael hated the fact that, despite everything, he still wanted Ryan.

  


Michael dragged himself to the locker rooms, counting off the minutes before he could curl up in his bed and fall asleep. Each second of the clock ticked by too slow when Ryan was there—smiling his stupid smile and modeling his stupid six-pack. Michael wanted to hurl when he thought of how close he had once been to that body—how, at one point, he thought that that smile had been for only him.

  


When Michael opened the wooden doors, he felt like he had been stabbed. There was the sight once again—Lochte and Dave, pushed against the lockers against the far wall, kissing, moaning, touching. The images that Michael had locked away—the images that still managed to haunt his dreams every single fucking night—played fresh before his eyes.

  


If Michael had looked carefully, he would have noticed the subtle differences. Ryan didn’t kiss Dave like he had last time. And he didn’t have the same carefree grin. Instead, his eyes were closed and his head rested on Dave’s shoulder. He thrust a little too rapidly.

  


But Michael didn’t notice. He just saw Ryan. And Dave. Ryan and Dave. 

  


And all the emotions that he had so long suppressed came flying out.

  


“Fucking Christ.” Within seconds, Michael was beside the two men, ripping Ryan off Dave and shoving the diver against the wall. “You fucking asshole.” Michael spoke through gritted teeth. He grabbed fistfuls of Dave’s shirt. “You lay one more hand on him—you touch him one more fucking time and I swear—”

  


“I—”

  


“Michael—”

  


Michael was able to throw a punch, landing squarely on Dave’s jaw, before Ryan managed pulled the two of them apart. 

  


* * * 

  


Michael Phelps sat in the hallway outside the locker rooms, head in his hands. Ryan and Peter and Erik and Chad were inside, tending Dave’s injury. None of them had asked what happened. 

  


When Ryan came outside, Michael expected him to be angry. He expected a lot of yelling and screaming—and maybe that would’ve been better. But Ryan Lochte just came out and sat quietly next to Michael. He played with his hands, eyes on ground.

  


“Dave has a busted lip.” 

  


Michael didn’t respond.

  


“You might have fractured his jaw.”

  


Michael sat with his head down, staring at his swim briefs. He wished Ryan would just go away.

  


“I miss you.”

  


The words caught Michael by surprise. His head shot up and his eyes snapped to Ryan. For the first time in weeks, Michael got a good look at Ryan Lochte. He noticed Ryan’s slumped shoulders and flushed skin. He noticed the bags under Ryan’s eyes and the hollows of Ryan’s cheekbones. Michael fought the urge to reach up and touch him. The image of Dave and Ryan still flashed before his eyes.

  


“Yeah, well, it doesn’t look like it.” Michael’s voice was gruff. The words were pinched and cold.

  


Ryan winced. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

  


Michael played with a string on his shorts.

  


“I mean, its not even like a big deal, right?” Ryan hugged his knees and stared straight ahead. “It’s not like we were exclusive or anything. So I fucked Dave. You probably screwed like half the US swim team or something—”

  


“I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

  


Ryan’s head shot to Michael. He must’ve heard wrong. “But you and Erik—”

  


“I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

  


Ryan’s head spun. He watched Mike fumbling with his shorts, eyes down. Michael had only been sleeping with him. And he fucked Dave. Twice. Suddenly, Ryan remembered the last time he had been with Dave. Three weeks ago. 

  


“You saw us the last time too, didn’t you.” 

  


Mike didn’t answer. Ryan could only take that as a yes. He felt like throwing up.

  


“It didn’t mean anything.”

  


“Of course it did. It always means something.”

  


Ryan turned to him and took one of Mike’s hands. He gripped it even as Michael tried to jerk away. “Mike. Mike, look at me.” He raised his hand and put it on the side of Michael’s head, turning him so that Mike had no choice but to look straight at Lochte. Ryan scooted in. Damn, he’d forgotten how bright Mike’s eyes were. “Listen, are you listening?”

  


Mike just cleared his throat. He stared at Ryan’s lips.

  


“Mike, it’s you. It’s always been you, you little fucker.” Ryan grinned and rubbed the side of Mike’s head. Michael finally looked up into Ryan’s eyes. “I don’t know why I went with Dave. Really. That was like the stupidest decision of my entire life.”

  


Ryan let out a breath when he realized that Michael was smiling. It was small, but it was there.

  


“I know that I probably have no right saying this,” Ryan swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “But, I want to try this again. Us. For real, this time.”

  


Ryan didn’t have much time to think about much else, because suddenly, Michael lips were smashed against his. Ryan’s hand slipped from the side of Mike’s head to his neck. He pulled Mike impossibly close as he smiled into the kiss. When Mike pulled back, he saw the grin plastered to his face—and he felt something deep twist in his chest. 

  


“God, you could be a real asshole sometimes.” But Michael was laughing, his hand still on Ryan’s neck. “I thought it was real last time.”

  


“It was. At least it should’ve been.”

  


And then they were kissing again. They were kissing even as the other guys came out of the locker rooms.

  


“Ahh, jesus, get a room!” Michael heard Cullen roar. But he just flipped Jones off and pulled Ryan even closer. 

  


Michael was near Ryan again. And the dimpled grin that Ryan had just flashed was just for him. 

  


And, fuck, knowing that might’ve just been the best feeling in the world.


End file.
